Once and Again (Life As She Knows It Rewrite)
by Cadeyrn Lux
Summary: Hollis Potter walked into what she thinks is the final battle of the war that's been raging for the last six years, only to find, when it's over and she's officially lost everything, that she's not where she's supposed to be - or, rather, she's not when she's supposed to be. She wouldn't have made it as far as she did without being stubborn, however, so she pushed past the surprise
1. Chapter 1

Author note: Four years and eleven months to the day later...

It's been interesting. Quit a job, started school for medical billing and coding, started another job that ate all of my soul and then some, quit, started another job that I adore, graduated...decided I needed to go back to school for something I actually love (bachelor's in Creative Writing) and that doesn't even cover family business (my sister is married, I have a brother in law and new nephew I adore, and she's having her first kid!) since. I'm happy, I'm settled, I discover hockey is the best sport in the history of existence (I'm southern; I appropriately appreciate football, but y'all _hockey_ (and hockey players...).

More importantly, I started really writing again and I finally got back here with a clear vision of where I want to go with this.

I hope you love it. Comment, favorites, all the things.

Hollis looked up from the latest reports about Death Eater movements in relation to their supply lines as a messenger darted into the room. Her assistants stirred as well, automatically reaching for their wands. It was no matter that anyone still on their base should've been trustworthy; war had been a brutal teacher on that front.

"Ma'am!" the slip of a girl called, all but running up to her. She had red hair, bright blue eyes, and pointed chin. Hollis was pretty sure her name was Mary or Carrie. She was one of the newer witches to start in the Hub. "Severus Snape is here – in the Medic wing."

Hollis swore under her breath, gesturing to her two attendants and walked quickly from the room. Texas and Maine followed her easily. Both of them were taller and older than her and easily kept up.

They had real names, of course, but went by their states so that if Voldemort ever got a foothold in America, he couldn't track down their families and make them pay for their actions like he had so many English Aurors. Texas was a late twenties, early thirties Mexican American, tall with a solid build, liquid black eyes like Severus', equally dark, thick curly hair, and she was one of the best cooks they had. She, like the rest of the Americans on Hollis' base, was the best America had to offer – the Wizarding version of Special Forces or Marines or whatever they were. Given Hollis' position, she should probably know that but there was only so much space in her brain to remember things and that hadn't quite made the list. Maine was an older guy, probably late forties, with short blonde hair, glinting hazel eyes, and a broad, powerful build. He was full of infectious, unfailing good humor that reminded her deeply of the Weasley twins from better years.

Sometimes, Hollis couldn't fathom why they'd follow her, a skinny twenty-one year old who hadn't even finished Hogwarts, but England had been following her since she was just seventeen - calling her the Chosen One since she was barely sixteen - so she probably shouldn't have been so surprised. Besides, she considered their opinion on just about everything, so it was kind of like the group making decisions. Both were strategic genii that had helped her direct and win several battles, and she didn't know what she'd have done without him.

"What happened?" she demanded, sweeping into the Medic wing. Their base was one of the larger, better-supplied ones and they actually had three fully qualified Healers, each with an apprentice being fast-tracked as quickly and thoroughly as they could be.

"We're not sure yet – he refuses to speak with us or let us tend to him. He wants to speak with you first, says it's an emergency," Anna Athers said crossly, falling into step with them. Hollis was not surprised. Severus only appeared once in a blue moon, usually preferring to use other methods should a message need to be delivered. However, when he did, he was still disagreeable with just about everyone. It was worth noting, though, that he did get along with Texas the two times they had interacted.

Texas and Maine didn't need to be told to stay back as she approached the curtained off bed. She entered alone and found Severus partially sitting up. A few more streaks of grey had appeared since their last face to face talk over five months ago, making him look older than his forty-two years. From the stiff way he was reclining, she was sure his injuries had to do with his ribs, but she didn't remark on it, merely waiting for him to speak. It was difficult not knowing the exact dangers she was sending him back to all time, her imagination making up all sorts of awful scenarios, but in the same turn, it also made it easier in some ways.

His dark eyes studied her in return, filled with that foreign emotion that was always there when they spoke alone. She could never really place it, but she knew that he tended to be nicer to her when they were alone. She'd long theorized that maybe this was just what friendship looked like on his sharp face.

"You look sick," he said critically.

Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "What a way to greet a girl," she said dryly, not at all offended by his deduction. She hadn't had a solid night's sleep in ages and she ate smaller portions than her men. She took great care to hide that small fact from Texas, passing it off as having a naturally small appetite. "What brings you here?"

It was always vitally important if it forced him to risk coming here. Part of her wondered just how badly he was injured if he had to force that point with the Healers to get them to send her a messenger. But it wasn't her business, wasn't part of the dance between them, so she didn't ask.

"Full on attack, all bases," Severus said, growing even more serious. "They plan on ending it tomorrow. And we both know they could," he added even more lowly despite the privacy spells he had undoubtedly put up.

Hollis sat hard in the chair by his bed, trying not to feel overwhelmed. Her fingernails bit hard into her palm.

The past six years had been open warfare; at first in just England, but it was so severe, so brutal, that they hadn't been able to hide it from Muggles. Within a year of the Second War starting, clips of the 'Shadow Terrorists' attacks filled the news and the spreading internet, bringing magic to the forefront of Muggle attention as they tried to explain it. They couldn't and, eventually, Wizarding kind had been exposed all over the world.

The war spread like wildfire from there. Dark wizards from nearly every country rose up, deciding to follow Voldemort's lead and starting wars against the Muggles, who had mostly allied with the Light to fight back. It had been a gruesome slaughter, Muggle machinery going haywire during battle because of all the magic flying around. Somewhere along the way, they had figured out how to get Muggle tech to work with magic rather than trying to force it to work around magic, but still, they were losing ground at the sheer brutality of the attacks.

What had started as a civil war had become World War III. The only countries not involved by 2000 were the Americas, protected as they were by the Pacific and Atlantic oceans and the way they had developed, isolated for so long. Hollis didn't know how things worked in other countries, but Texas had said the reason the United States hadn't suffered any rises in Dark wizards was because when they came of age, each witch and wizard had to sign an oath that said they'd do their best to follow the law. If they didn't, their magical signature lit up like firework – the larger the offense, the brighter it got – and their Aurors moved in, arresting and interrogating them. Depending on a variety of variables, they could be penalized with everything from a fine to jail time to being stripped of their magic completely and turned out into the Muggle world with a watcher to make sure they behaved and assimilated to Muggle culture properly.

When the civil war started in England, the Americas had all tightened their borders and it was extremely difficult to gain access without undergoing questioning, signing forms similar to the ones their eighteen years olds signed, and being tagged, so the government could find you at any one moment if you broke the law. Everything had gone well but some of their workers on this side of the pond had been killed and polyjuiced, which allowed Dark wizards to board a few Muggle planes. Once there, they accessed some other planes and attacked the World Trade Centers on September 11, 2001.

America had been sent reeling from the attack and Severus had reported that Voldemort had hopes to invade the country soon – once they fell, it would be easy to spread to Canada and Mexico. Instead, he seemed to have woken a sleeping giant like the Japanese had during World War II. A furious United States gathered their forces and thrown themselves into the war with all their considerable might, sending their best and sorely needed fresh troops, ones lacking the battle fatigue the rest of them were feeling, into Voldemort's home territory: England.

Canada, Mexico, and most of Central and South America had followed suit. They were all clever enough to see what Voldemort aimed to do after he toppled the U.S. and they wanted to cut him off before he destroyed their countries as well. Surprisingly few Dark wizards occupied their countries - Texas theorized it had something to do with the sheer mix of magics, everything from traditionally taught magic to voodoo and hoodoo being at least tolerated - and they hadn't been as troubled as nearly every other corner of the world, their peace maintained if barely.

That had been nearly a year ago and things had become stalemated with the extra forces. But still, a full assault could and most likely would cripple them, if not outright destroy them as Voldemort desired. Hollis didn't know if they'd be able to withstand it, though she wasn't prepared to concede defeat just yet.

"Are you fighting with us, then?" Hollis asked, keeping her voice even as she looked at the floor, trying to think. She didn't want him to really, but she knew better than to think she could stop him, the same way she knew he preferred she wasn't in the fight but also accepted that he couldn't stop her, particularly since she was the 'face' of the rebellion and the only one who could defeat Voldemort.

"Yes."

More often than not, he had arranged to be otherwise occupied during major conflicts and limited the damage he could inflict during the ones he had to be in, making the Dark Army think he was a good dueler, but that his genius truly lay in Potions.

She knew better and would be glad to have his wand on their side of this one.

"What time is the attack?"

"Three a.m."

Of course he'd attack at the body's natural low point, she thought absently. Voldemort, she knew, also had vampires in his forces and this would be their natural high point as nocturnal creatures. Thankfully, it wasn't a full moon and he couldn't use werewolves against them, though Fenrir and his ilk were still people to look out for.

Hollis checked her watch. It was seven thirty-two p.m. – they had less than eight hours to be ready. "Let them heal you and then join me in the War Office," she told Severus, standing, already mentally listing all the things they'd need to do.

He gave a short nod and she tucked her hand into her pocket rather than reach out. With a nod of her own, she left, waving Anna in. Texas and Maine joined up at her side and she started delegating tasks. They had a plan for such an attack as this, procedures to follow, chain of communications to enact, and they had little time to spare. By two-thirty a.m., everything was in place, the other bases had been notified and hopefully stood ready, and everyone was in their place, alert and waiting for the attack.

They didn't have to hold position for long. Voldemort's Dark Army advanced boldly, not bothering with stealth. They had decided to pretend that they were unaware of the attack and had men scrambling across the rooftops, shouting orders, and alarms renting through the air.

Hollis stood in the command center and took a deep breath and released it, giving the order for the first assault. They were in the middle of a decimated London and they had rigged rings of buildings around them to go off at a certain signal. She waited until more than half his army – coming, as expected, from all directions – had crossed through all of the rings and then set them off.

"Move out," she directed, following her own orders and heading for the nearest exit. They had made all sorts of tunnels and exits that led into their main building and around, most of their base being underground.

The surprised army was pushed back even further as the men previously running turned and started firing their strange mixture of weapons. Gun reports and spells shattered the night air, and everything became chaotic. Screams and explosions became background noise, and the coppery scent of blood and the scent of everything burning quickly filled Hollis's lungs as she, Texas, and Maine cut through the ranks, searching for Voldemort. She choked on it and put a bubble head charm around her head, squinting so that the constant, almost strobe like lights from spellwork and gunfire didn't blind her. She kept her muscles taut, ready for sudden movement at any given moment.

After what felt like hours but probably wasn't more than thirty minutes, she spotted Voldemort cutting through her army as easily as she cut through his and turned to Texas and Maine. They were looking back at her with solemn faces.

"It's been an honor serving with you lot," she said, just like she did every time she left them to confront Voldemort.

"Godspeed," they both replied, giving her a salute. She gave a nod and darted back into the fray, knowing they would stick somewhat close to her to help keep Death Eaters and Dark creatures off her back.

"I was wondering where you were," Voldemort called over the noise of the battle around them. Bodies littered the ground before him and she stepped gingerly over the young red head, Mary or Carrie, the one who had brought her the message earlier. She wondered briefly where Severus had gotten off to and sent up a short prayer to whoever was listening for his safety. Out of everyone, she wanted him to live most.

Hollis didn't bother replying to Voldemort, instead choosing to fire off a stream of curses. He returned them and they went back and forth. It, she had thought more than once, was like a deadly dance between them. They circled and parried and came alarming close together before spinning away. They took hits here and there, lost ground there, gained here, seemingly forever locked in what felt like a stalemate that reflected the larger war conducted by them. For brief instances, they would appear to have the upper hand, but then something would occur – a spell from one of the States or the other fighters, an explosion nearby, stumbling over a body – and they'd lose that edge.

She always hoped that one of her men would take him out with a sniper rifle or something, but it never happened. Through some weird twist that she blamed on the prophecy, neither of them could be brought down by another magician – though they could certainly be injured by them as the thick scar along her thigh could attest – and gunfire never seemed to make its mark. If either one of them was going to fall, it would be by the other's hand, and it would take out-dueling them with magic.

Finally, when her arms were burning and her ankle twisted and throbbing, when the sun was peeking over the horizon and both of their armies were decimated, her spell – an overpowered, desperate Blasting Hex – hit him square in the chest. Hollis wasn't sure who was more surprised as he was blown back, a gushing hole where his sternum and heart should have been, but it didn't matter just then. He was dying and all she had to do was stand there and watch.

When he stopped making that horrible gurgling noise and lay still, she put her wand to her throat, muttering, "_Sonorus_." She turned to face what was left of the struggling armies. "He's dead!" she yelled, her voice ringing through the streets. Everyone froze. "The Dark Lord Voldemort is no more!"

A tremendous cheer went up from the ragged remains of her army and, as she gazed about, she saw them take prisoners with a renewed vigor and the soon-to-be-prisoners trying to Disapparate before the crushing reality that they couldn't set in; their Wardsmith, Ohio, had seen to that.

She slowly started making her way back towards the base, her eyes flitting around, trying to find members of her army that were hanging on to their lives, but all she saw was death. Blood squelched under her boots and she forced the gorge in her throat down. After all the battles and things she had seen, one would think she'd be more accustomed to it, but she wasn't.

It, she couldn't help but think as she gazed around and remembered all the others that had been lost, was a pyrrhic victory. There wasn't more than a few thousand witches and wizards left in England if they were lucky and it was getting just as bad in every other country.

She spotted a flash of the U.S. military camouflage that her States wore and jogged over. Texas and Maine had fallen next to each other and she paused, crouching next to them. She knew they kept letters to their families in the sides of their boots and she tugged the slender envelopes out, determined to mail them. Hollis looked at the addresses.

Texas' last name was Ramirez and Maine's was Jacobs. Hollis wished she knew their first names. Maybe, one day, she'd be able to find out.

"God bless," she told them both. She didn't know much about God, didn't want to know about him – how could some all-powerful being let something like this happen? – but they had both been Muggleborns raised in Catholic and Christian churches respectively, and neither had quite given up some of their ingrained habits, including their belief in God. They admitted they didn't know how magic jibed with what they had read in the Bible, but both kept Bibles in their quarters and recited Psalms 23 over the dead when they could.

For a moment, she struggled to remember the words, thinking it was something they would want said over them, a way for her to honor them and everything had done for her and this war, but then she heard Texas' smooth, honeyed accent in her head, murmuring the words. She started reciting them quietly -

'_The Lord is my Shepherd;_

_I shall not want._

_He makes me to lie down in green pastures;_

_He leads me beside the still waters_

_He restores my soul;_

_He leads me in the paths of righteousness_

_For His name's sake._

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death_

_I will fear no evil;_

_For You are with me;_

_Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me._

_You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;_

_You anoint my head with oil;_

_My cup runs over._

_Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me_

_All the days of my life;_

_And I will dwell in the house of the Lord_

_Forever._'

She had a moment of silence, crossing herself the way she had seen Texas do, and then moved on, tucking their letters into her left inside chest pocket. Suddenly overcome with the desire to find out where Severus was and if he was injured or not, she held her wand flat in her palm.

"_Point Me Severus Snape,_" she whispered. It spun and she quickly followed it. It led her not all that far from where she and Voldemort had dueled, just about a block away. He was lying on the ground, surrounded by a multitude of dead Death Eaters, and completely still. A sudden fear seized her heart and she ran towards him, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle, and dropped onto the ground next to him, uncaring of the blood soaking into her pants. "Severus?" she said, rolling him on his back.

He let out a hiss of air and his eyes fluttered open. They seemed to have trouble focusing on her. "Hollis?" he whispered, his voice laced with pain, though he was clearly trying to hide it.

"It's me," she said, starting to cast spells to figure out what exactly was wrong with him. She wasn't a Healer by any means, but she could get by as a Medic. It was one thing she made sure everyone on her base studied. A person never knew when a simple spell like a blood clotter could save someone's life or help them hold on long enough to hand them over to Healers.

One of his hands came up and lightly gripped her wrist. "It's no use," he said. "I've got maybe a minute and a half."

A lump formed in her throat. "Don't say that, just tell me what to do – I'll heal you," she said, looking around desperately. She could see all three of her Healers from here, but they were all preoccupied and she couldn't pull them away. As much as she valued Severus, she couldn't put him above her other men. It wouldn't be fair. She'd never be able to look at their loved ones if they died while she saved Severus.

He sighed. "There isn't anything you can do. No cure. Just..." he trailed off.

"What?" she demanded when he didn't continue and let go of her wrist.

His hands unbuttoned the front of his robes and he reached in, pulling out a small, thin metal box. He handed it to her, his dark, expressive eyes fixed on her violet ones, that strange emotion shining bright and fierce in his. It made her lungs catch and she wished she had the courage to ask him about it before now. "All you have to do is tap it once for it to expand. It's fixed to your magical signature."

She nodded, pushing back tears, knowing they had less than a minute now. "Alright."

Hollis accepted the box and took his hand again. He sighed deeply again, still holding her gaze. Severus hated tears, he never knew what to do about them, and that was the only reason she wasn't bawling out her eyes right now. Severus had been the one constant in this war, the one person she knew beyond a doubt would survive until the end. It was one of the things they did best, him and her.

And Severus, no matter how far apart they were or how long they went without so much as seeing each other, had been her anchor. Over the years, she had come so far from her childish hatred of the man. She understood him far better than ever before and the same could be said of him. And, during that time, that respect, that admiration and understanding had shifted into something more. Something she didn't like naming to herself.

But now he was dying. Any hope she had never officially acknowledged, hope of the life after the war that she had scarcely let herself dream of, was going up in smoke, just like the buildings around her.

His hand tightened around hers for a moment. "Goodbye," he murmured. And he was gone, his last breath given, his hand lax in her grip.

"Severus?" she whispered. It seemed wrong to speak any louder. "Severus?" She didn't expect an answer, but oh God, did she crave one. Shakily, she reached out her hand and brushed a lock of his inky black hair from his face.

She didn't know whether to cry or find the closest living Death Eater and rip them to shreds.

She ended up sitting there, numb and disbelieving. Absently, she started straightening him out; mending the tears in his clothes, cleaning away the blood and grime, healing wounds, and re-buttoning his clothes. She transfigured a nearby hunk of stone into a simple black coffin and managed to place him in it. She'd be damned if he didn't get a proper burial.

But she couldn't bring herself to close the lid. Once she did, she'd be admitting that he was gone, she'd be locking him away. And she couldn't do that.

"Hollis," a soft voice said. She looked up into the face of Anna Athers and saw sympathy in her molten grey eyes. She was crouching in front of Hollis and looked between her and Severus for a long moment. Then she reached out a hand and closed the coffin. "He's gone, dear. I'm sorry."

Hollis numbly nodded. "Can I have a few more minutes?"

"Of course," Anna said, standing and walking away.

Hollis could feel the numb shock starting to fade and a heavy weight settled on her. It felt like she couldn't breathe and she leaned against the coffin, pulling her legs up to her chest. How could she lose him after all of this? How was she still alive and why was it him that died? It was a question that had plagued her since she had learned of her parents' death but never had it seemed more important than now. What sick higher power could make this happen to her? After all she had lost, after all she had given to win this war, she was now being forced to accept that the only man she had ever loved was to be taken from her as well, right at the moment of victory?

Her head fell forward onto her knees, ignoring the blood smearing on her forehead, and she struggled to keep her composure. Her men expected her to be grim or triumphant, not out of her mind with grief. She had to be strong. She could cry later.

Hollis never saw the golden glow surrounding them, never felt the world around them vanishing. What she did notice was the sudden feeling of hardwood flooring under her, the change of air – it was fresher, no longer reeking of sweat and smoke, blood and death – and the sudden cacophony of voices around her.

Her head jerked up in surprise, waving her wand and silently throwing up a shield before she even fully registered what was around her. She was on her feet a moment later and then it clicked, what she was seeing.

A bitter chuckle escaped her. "Of course..."


	2. Chapter 2

"Who are you?" Dumbledore demanded coldly.

Hollis sent out a small magical pulse, placing everyone in the room instantly and finding that there was a wall behind her. There were fifty-three people, pretty evenly divided between men and women. There were three large windows total, but they all lay behind the ranks of Order members. And while there was a door off to the side, only behind four people, she didn't know where it led and she hated turning her back on unknown people.

There was no way that this was a potion-induced hallucination and she didn't know a single spell that could induce this kind of thing. She had never known some of the people in this room, had never seen their faces, so there was no way that her mind could use them against her.

Dumbledore raised his arm a little higher. "I will only ask once more – who are you?"

"Don't presume to order me around, Headmaster," she said coolly, reassuming her usual air of control and intent. She hadn't always felt it, but her men had done better when she appeared to feel that way. "I'm Field Marshal Grey," she lied blithely, only just remembering to change her last name. She'd have to figure out a new first name later – Hollis was a bit too distinct.

Dumbledore stared at her queerly and she stared back evenly, conscious of all the other wands pointed her way, of the fearful, confused, and surprised faces in front of her. And horribly, achingly aware of Severus' coffin just behind her.

How was he dead? Who'd killed him? What had killed him? Had that emotion - that bright, fierce emotion - been what she always hoped it was? If he had lived, would there have been a future for them? She knew he hadn't seen her as James Potter's daughter in a long time, but had he progressed that far? She remembered the little tin in her hand and slipped it into the same pocket that still held Texas and Maine's letters.

"Field Marshal Grey?" he repeated slowly, watching her movements almost as carefully as she was watching his.

"Yes," she said. "Where am I?" she added after another moment.

"We'll ask the questions here, missy," Moody said. She noted that his nose was still intact and he had both of his eyes as she set her face into a hard mask her underlings had learned meant danger.

"It's Field Marshal or simply Grey to you, Auror Moody," she said. Moody's face twisted into a sneer and he made ready to retort.

"Settle down," Dumbledore told them both. She did no such thing – defiance would cover her grief long enough to get out of there and find some sense of reality.

"Where am I?" she repeated firmly, her grip tightening on her wand. It was slippery with blood and she made a mental note to clean it as soon as possible. Hollis shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, keeping her knees bent slightly. Her ankle throbbed, but she could heal it later and she shut out the pain entirely. Being able to move quickly meant more than her comfort.

Pain is a message. Messages can be ignored.

And then she realized having to make a fast exit would mean leaving Severus' coffin behind and she was torn. She severely doubted that they'd desecrate it in any way and they'd probably bury it properly, but she hated the idea of leaving him behind, left with virtual strangers. But, she decided, if it really came down to it, she'd have to. He'd want her too. He would say he had done too much for her to get taken out because she didn't want to leave his body behind.

Severus Snape was - had been - nothing but practical.

"You're in a safe house," Dumbledore said vaguely. She hadn't expected a clearer answer, but it still irritated her. She had grown used to getting her answers quickly; she hadn't had to ask twice in a long time. "Where did you come from?"

Answer for answer then, she thought as she answered just as vaguely, "A battle."

She wouldn't have even said that much if it wasn't for the state of her person. Dirt and grime covered her from head to toe, along with the blood and stench of sweat. Her closely fitted dragonhide coat and pants had mostly protected her, but there was a cut on her face that had, thankfully, stopped bleeding but crusted to her face. She could feel it crack and flake when she shifted her features or spoke. And that didn't even begin to describe the blood soaked into her clothing, some of it hard and dry, the rest sticky and various degrees of fresh.

The overwhelmingly copper scent of all the blood gave her that gross metallic taste in the back of her throat and she wondered, briefly, how Remus Lupin was handling it with his heightened senses but didn't spare the time to figure it out.

"What's the date?" she asked, knowing it was her turn.

"February 18, 1981," he answered quickly. "What battle?"

She didn't answer, trying to figure out if he was lying or not. Taking a small risk of their paranoid retaliation, she waved her wand, casting aTempus charm. Thankfully, no one tried to curse her, as she doubted she could have reacted out of anything but simple lethal instinct just then.

He wasn't lying.

Her face must have given something away because Dumbledore asked, "What?"

Hollis looked up at him, wondering if she should tell him the truth. The implications of what had happened were sinking in and she knew she was holding the golden ticket to stopping the war in its tracks. But could she use it without making everything worse? She started seeing faces, each and every single person she had seen die, no matter how briefly. Flashes of battles and skirmishes and desperate duels came back to her. How could she justify not doing it? How could she not risk it in the hopes of saving millions, of saving Texas and Maine and all the other states, of Mary/Carrie, the kids she'd gone to school with, of saving Severus from his awful, hard fate?

Hollis felt the peace that normally accompanied making a hard decision set in and she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and carefully.

How to phrase this?

She raised her wand at a mild pace, so as not to alarm them. "I solemnly swear on my magic that I am from July 14th of 2002 and that I will never knowingly help Voldemort by either action or inaction," she said evenly. A white flash of gold-tinged magic flared out from the tip of her wand and confirmed her oath.

Disbelieving and shocked murmurs buzzed through the room and she could see Dumbledore thinking hard and quickly about what to do.

"Do you know how you got here, Miss Grey?" he asked after a long moment.

"Field Marshal or simply Grey," Hollis repeated. "Even General works."

"General Grey, then," Dumbledore corrected himself, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze. Everyone had instantly quieted to hear her answer and she simply shook her head. "Who is in the coffin?" he asked more gently.

She gritted her teeth, clamping down on the tears before they could rise. "A good man. You need to know nothing more than that."

Thankfully, Dumbledore left it there. "What happened before you arrived?"

"That's a bit of a broad question. Clarify."

"Tell us about the battle, please. Perhaps we can find a reason for your being here."

"Going into detail will take quite some time, so I'll sum it up," she started. "At 7:32 pm, I received word from S - our spy that Voldemort will be launching a major attack against the last of the Light bases in England. We had a plan for it, so I enacted it and alerted the other bases. At 2:57 am, Voldemort attacked, according to schedule. We waited for them to close in and then exploded maybe a two-thirds to half of their forces and charged the rest.

"Understand that the Second War with Voldemort has turned into World War III. The Muggles were involved and everything. My generals, Texas and Maine – two of the many Special Forces and other military forces that America sent throughout the world – and I went in, seeking out Voldemort as per custom. He's been obsessed with killing me for some time, and I'm usually one of the few that can hold him back for any period of time.

"I found him, and we dueled until dawn or thereabout when I got a lucky Blasting Hex in and he lost his sternum, parts of his ribs, lungs, and heart. I waited for him to bleed to death, then announced it to the rest of our decimated armies. The Light rallied and the Dark fell. Depending on how well the other bases did, this could've been the end of the war in England, so long as we kept out other Dark Lords. It wouldn't, of course, be the end of the war – we'd have to assist other nations as their wars spawned from ours – but that's a separate issue and now null and void anyway.

"After Voldemort's fall, I went seeking out what was left of my army and I found a close comrade who had been cursed, but hadn't yet died. It was incurable, he said, so I sat with him until the end and put him in the coffin. And then I was here. No one could have hit me with a spell without my seeing or hearing them, and it wasn't a latent curse of some sort. Voldemort only landed a few and they were all things I recognized, things I was willing to risk getting hit by in order to get in a better retaliation shot.

"So there's no reason for being here, but I'll let you know now that you'll have to kill me to keep me from changing the future," she finished, putting all her considerable will behind the statement.

Dumbledore looked conflicted. "Miss – General Grey, do you understand the dangers of time travel?"

She fixed her violet eyes on him – she had been observing the room, where many looked disbelieving. Her eyes had been green originally, but an improperly brewed potion to correct her vision had turned them violet. Mercifully, that was the only side effect and her vision was still properly corrected.

"Probably better than most," Hollis said, letting down her Occlumency shield just enough for him to see that she was telling him the truth without showing the memory itself.

Dumbledore studied her for a long moment. Eventually, he only nodded. "Very well. We'll do all we can to help you. What do you know about Voldemort?"

She smiled thinly. "It's more of what I don't know, and I know everything, from his birth until his death less than twenty minutes ago."

Dumbledore blinked and the Order shifted uneasily. "How?" he asked curiously.

"You told me some of it, our spy told me a lot, and Voldemort told me a fair bit himself," she said flatly. "As I said, he was rather fixated with killing me and he has a strange way of boasting to his so-called victims. Now, do you have a leak in your Order?" she asked Dumbledore. He nodded.

"You know who he or she is?" he asked in return.

"Yes," she said, having already spotted Wormtail in her peripheral vision. She had kept her stance and her muscles tight; it was an ingrained habit, a pose she could hold for hours. "May I deal with it?"

He contemplated it and Wormtail made his move then. She brought down her shield at the first sign of movement and by the time he was uttering the incantation for the blasting hex, she had darted through the first few ranks and stunned him. He hit the ground and she summoned his wand and bound him. She cast an additional spell that locked his Animagus ability.

"Holy sh – " she heard several people murmur in shock, all of them having automatically backed away from her, keeping their wands pointed at her. She twirled Wormtail's wand between her fingers.

"Check his arm," she ordered a small blonde man. He warily approached them, skirting around her quickly, and bent over Wormtail's left arm. When he had the sleeve pushed back, he swore and moved back so that all could see the inky black Mark burned into his arm.

"No," a man next to Hollis gasped. She didn't look at him – she didn't have to. She remembered that voice well. It was Sirius, which meant Remus, and James and Lily were nearby.

"Yes," she said evenly. "And there was no Imperius Curse. No torture or loved ones being threatened. He's a coward who was scared of dying, of losing the war, so he turned to Voldemort, offered to spy in return for his life being spared."

"How do you know?" a different voice, one she didn't know, asked lowly, sounding hurt and betrayed. She chanced a glance and met the hazel eyes of James Potter, her father. It was the first time she had seen him alive since before she was old enough to remember things.

"He told me one night, when I was thirteen," she answered back softly. "He was trying to talk Remus and Sirius out of killing him."

"Why you?" Lily asked. "Why were you there?"

Hollis considered how best to answer and then said, "I'm willing to tell you lot the story later, but not just now. He needs to be taken in and I...I have work to do."

She tossed the wand to Remus, who caught it with a heartbreaking expression and turned away, walking back to the black coffin. She stared down at it for a moment. Hollis had nowhere to go, no money to speak of, and hadn't the first clue about what to do with the coffin. He had to be buried, obviously, but he needed a proper resting place. A headstone. That kind of thing.

But she couldn't think there. There were too many stares boring into her back and she thought best with movement anyway. So she levitated the coffin, her heart giving an inexpressibly painful squeeze, and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Dumbledore asked gently, his voice sad.

She didn't look back. "I don't know. But I'll find you. Don't worry about that," she answered blandly, suddenly feeling tired. There were murmurs, some of concern, some of less kind emotions, but she ignored them and walked out of the room.

The door led to an average hallway and Severus had to float behind her instead of beside her. She didn't look at the pictures hanging on the wall, solely focused on the front door, which was a dark wood with stained glass in the center on the top half. It depicted some sort of plant and, once through it, she was on a wide, wooden porch that was covered. A rocking chair sat in one corner, along with a swinging bench.

The air was bitterly cold, especially in comparison to the muggy summer morning she had just left behind, and she was grateful for the heavy coat. Stars shone brightly above and the moon was only half full.

Quickly, Hollis tried to think of all the places she had been too, the places she could Apparate to, a place Severus would like as a final resting place. Only a couple stood out in her mind, and she stepped off the porch and touched the coffin. She had already deduced that wards would give her no trouble and she prepared to Apparate.

"Wait!" she heard a woman call out behind her. She turned and saw Alice Longbottom running out of the house after her. She was pulling on her great coat, her gloves, and scarf in hand.

"Yes?" Hollis asked.

Alice hesitated for a moment and Hollis had a few moments to notice how much she looked like Neville. He'd had her nose and ears, her eyes and a hint of her in his face. And they looked the same when summoning up their courage and determination.

"I want to come with you," she said. "You're going to need a place to stay and someone who knows what's all going on. I mean, you don't look very old, so you're probably not as familiar with this time as you could be. Well, you might be, but..." She shrugged as she trailed off, a little pink-faced but her brown eyes still determined.

Hollis turned it over quickly in her mind. "I'll accept your company and help under one condition." Alice gestured for her to continue. "You swear that whatever you see or hear, you keep to yourself unless I give you express permission to the contrary. It's not harmful to anyone – just...personal."

Alice nodded and held up her wand and made her oath with the addition that she would uphold it only so long as innocents weren't harmed and it wasn't self-harming either. "Where to first?"

Hollis sighed. "I'm going to bury him," she said. She waved her wand, cleaning off her dirty hand, and then held it out to Alice, who accepted it. Her hand was warmer than Hollis', and a little larger than hers as well. Hollis twisted.

With a crack, she landed them on top of a hill, just beneath a towering oak tree. A river was frozen along at the bottom of the hill and the oak above them stood slightly apart from the rest of its brethren, at least twenty yards from the rest of the forest around it.

She gently lowered the coffin and looked around, her breath like puffs of smoke.

It was almost exactly the same as the only other time she had come here with Hermione, after Ron had abandoned them and before he came back. It was a silent place, mostly, the animals having been quieted by her sudden appearance, but she thought Severus would like it. It exuded peacefulness and he was unlikely to ever be disturbed.

Before the grief could overwhelm her, she set to work, waving her wand and thawing the earth at the base of the tree. She then shifted a load of earth off to the side. It only took a couple of more waves for the grave to be deep and perfectly rectangular. With a wave to set up spells to keep animals away, she set off into the forest to find some good sized wood or a boulder to transfigure into a headstone. To keep from dwelling on what she was doing and for whom, she started plotting in her head, taking satisfaction every time her many plans ended with Voldemort's painful death.

It didn't take long to come upon a good sized log and she levitated it out of the forest and set about transfiguring it into a simple headstone that she thought would be more to Severus' understated style. Her eyes blurred as she tried to think of what to inscribe on it and Alice, who had been staying at a respectful distance, came close.

"Who was he?" she asked softly, crouching next to her.

"Severus," Hollis said, taking slow, deep breaths. Alice said nothing but Hollis could feel her surprise. Steadying her hand, Hollis started engraving what she wanted on his headstone.

'Severus Snape  
Who Died as He Lived  
Fighting to End the Dark

'It matters not how strait the gate  
How charged with punishments the scroll  
I am the master of my fate  
I am the captain of my soul.'

"It's beautiful," Alice murmured.

Hollis nodded and slowly turned to the rest of her task – actually burying him. She stood and went around the grave, to the other side where his coffin rested and stood next to it, looking down at it.

Why hadn't she done anything? Why hadn't she found the courage to speak up, even just once? Or, if she was particularly bold, steal a quick kiss? Why hadn't she done something, anything to find out if he felt the same way? Why had she left it like this? It would have been painful, so very painful, if he had died and there had been affection there – or if she had been rejected – but anything had to be better than standing here, not knowing and full of regrets.

"So much for bravery," she murmured, levitating the coffin carefully and lowering it. She tossed in the customary handful, Alice doing so as well, and then smoothed over the rest with her wand. Alice placed the headstone at the head of the grave, nestling it between two roots of the tree. It looked beautiful and ethereal in the moonlight. "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner," Hollis told the grave in a whisper.

If she stayed there another minute longer, she was going to lose what little control she had left. She could feel it pressing down on her, the tears welling up, and the throbbing ache in her chest that encouraged her to just sit on the ground and cry her eyes out, cry until there was nothing left, until that numbness came back.

"Ready?" Alice asked.

"One last thing," Hollis said, pulling out the slender silver chain from around her neck. The pendant was simple - a small black heart encased in silver – but it reminded her intensely of Severus now. Black and silver were the only colors she had ever seen him in possession of – and the silver only coming from his pocket watch and the more recent dusting of it in his hair. With a wave of her wand, she made the pendant into a permanent port-key to his grave and then tucked it back under the collar of her coat. "Now I'm ready," she told Alice, who held out a hand. She took it and Alice twisted.


	3. Chapter Three: Observations

They had landed on top of another hill, apparently the boundary of the wards, and she could see the twisting path that led up to the old fashioned manor. From what she could see, it wasn't as ornate as Hollis remembered the Malfoy place being, but it was still elegant and classic, a place most people would love to live in. What grounds she could see in the light of the half-moon were gorgeous and, thinking back, it was no surprise that Neville had developed a love of nature here.

"Come on. Frank will be getting antsy," Alice said kindly. Hollis nodded and they set off down the path. After several feet, she felt a shiver as Alice let her through the wards.

Tall trees lined the path and cast shadows all around them, making Hollis edgy. She hadn't spent much time above ground, in open space, at night in quite some time. Unfortunately, they would never let her go on reconnaissance missions; it was the one thing her men ever threatened to mutiny over.

Frank, whom she had spotted briefly at the meeting, had cleared the path of snow and ice, so at least she didn't have to worry about that.

"So..." Alice said after a couple of dozen yards of silence. "The future?"

"Yep."

"Did - did you know my son, Neville? I think he would have been about your age, maybe a few years younger."

Hollis smiled faintly. "He was in my year, both of us Gryffindors. One of the best people I knew."

"Knew? Oh..." Alice said, sounding like her fears had been confirmed.

"I'm the last of my year, the last of any year within three of mine."

There was another long moment of silence and then, "What was he like?"

"He was the best guy friend any girl could have," Hollis reminisced sadly, thinking of her bear of a friend. He had been tall and well-built but as gentle as a butterfly, never harming a single thing unless it was in a fight, and even then, he tried to make it as swift and painless as possible. The day he had died, several Death Eaters had cornered him but couldn't quite get him. His end had been throwing himself between a five-year-old hostage and a curse. "You know, the one whose shoulder you could cry on and who you trusted to never to tell anyone else why. He would never ever take advantage of anyone who was vulnerable. He was as kind as could be, quiet, and startlingly perceptive. A brilliant fighter once he got a little confidence in himself."

Hollis wished he was there with her now. He'd let her sob herself dry, comforting and standing guard all at the same time. He wouldn't judge her for her love for Severus; he'd see past the snark and dry humor, he'd see all the good in Severus – he _had _seen the good in him once he got over his fear of the man. And he wouldn't give her any ridiculous platitudes about her loss.

"We raised him right," Alice murmured, more to herself than Hollis. Hollis didn't have the heart to let her know otherwise. "I'm glad."

Hollis looked down at herself. She should probably at least make an attempt at looking decent. She started murmuring spells, mending her knee-length coat and her leather pants. She'd mend the tights underneath later and she could only heal her various wounds in better lighting. Hollis spelled away the dirt and blood and cast a freshening charm so she didn't reek quite so badly.

They closed in on the house and Hollis got a better look at it. It was three stories of grey stone, rather Gothic with spires and turrets, and large glass windows that she thought might be stained glass. It was a little difficult to tell in the low lighting.

They went up the massive stone steps and Alice tugged the heavy oak door open. Frank had a baby propped on his hip and was pacing in the large foyer, murmuring to the child. He looked up with such an expression of concern, Hollis was sharply reminded of Neville. He truly had been an even mixture between his parents, though he had clearly taken after his father as far as size and build were concerned.

"Everything alright?" he asked them both, though his warm brown eyes gravitated more toward Alice than herself.

Alice nodded and held out her arms. Neville leaned towards her, smiling and babbling incoherently as he held out his arms. "Hello precious," she greeted, her voice light and loving. Neville patted her face and Alice turned towards Hollis. "Neville, this is one of your future year mates, Grey - though I think she might be lying about that." She said it with a friendly smile and knowing look, so Hollis only smiled slightly.

"Hullo, Nev. Nice to see you again," she told the baby, who blinked his serious brown eyes at her. Hollis gently stroked his soft cheek with the back of one finger. Then he surprised her by reaching out towards her. Hollis looked between Frank and Alice. Frank looked surprised but didn't interfere, and Alice was smiling.

"Go ahead," Alice encouraged. "You can hold him."

Carefully, she took the tiny boy that would grow into a massive, brave man. Hollis couldn't recall the last baby she held, but thankfully, Neville was old enough to hold his own head up and she just had to keep him from falling. Just like he had with Alice, he patted her face with one chubby hand and laid his head on her shoulder, completely at ease with her.

"_You're a good boy_," she murmured in Russian, brushing some hair away from his forehead. Neville looked up at her, bemused in his sweet little innocent way. "_You're not going to lose your parents this time and you're not going to die so young. You're going to have a bright future and a lovely family, who are all going to adore you and see you for brilliant, beautiful person you are_."

Neville babbled something in reply, his little fist waving in the air and she laughed a little, her throat thick. He reminded her sharply of what their future had become - they had been such innocent little beings, and because of one man's fear of death and his hate, their lives had been consumed in war - and of what had been lost.

Frank watched Grey carefully. Alice had clearly decided to trust her and Frank didn't doubt her judgment, but he couldn't help his concern. She had arrived so suddenly, her back pressed against a coffin, and had been covered in so much blood and dirt. Her face held a wolfish like wariness throughout the whole meeting, her body clearly tensed and ready for sudden movement – which had proven useful when dealing with Pettigrew.

Frank still couldn't believe that little Peter had been a traitor. Dumbledore had Moody take him in and the meeting had quickly broken up after that. James had been devastated and Lily had taken him home while Remus had taken a furious Sirius somewhere.

He hadn't wanted Alice to go with Grey but had allowed that someone should keep an eye on her, help her if need be, and she did need a place to stay. As far as Frank knew, one did not walk into a battle like what she had described with a satchel of gold or anything of that nature. She'd be broke, homeless, displaced, and – based on her age, maybe five or so years older than him – probably not very familiar with what was going on specifically. She'd need help and they had plenty of space and money to give.

He quickly noticed that, in the time he had been waiting for Alice and his new house guest, something had changed in Grey. She was less...authoritative and dangerous and now just looked like a gaunt, twenty-something year old with aged violet eyes and premature worry lines in her forehead, and lines around her mouth that suggested she spent a lot of time frowning. That, and she was cleaner.

She was a little awkward with Neville, murmuring something to him in what sounded like Russian, but she seemed very fond of him. Alice had introduced her as a future classmate of his, so she probably was.

_Wait._ Frank quickly redid math in his head and realized he'd definitely pinned her for being older than a meager _twenty-one_. Good Merlin.

Neville, typically, babbled something in reply and her face tensed. When she laughed, she sounded like she was going to cry.

"Here," Alice said, holding out her arms and taking Neville. "Let's get you a bath, some clothes, and a bed, alright? Unless you want to eat first?"

Grey shook her head. "I don't eat during the first twelve hours after a fight. It never stays down," she said quietly, shifting her weight, her violet eyes flicking around again. He had seen the same gaze on several of the older Aurors and those who had lived through Grindelwald's war. Watching her assess his house, taking in exit points, weapons, and defensive areas, was quite bizarre.

"Alright. Well, Frank, will you show her to the blue room while I put down Neville and gather some old clothes for her? I know I have some stuff from before my pregnancy that should be close to fitting you," Alice said, giving her frame a quick once over.

Grey wore a tight coat that he could tell was made of dragonhide, like her pants. It was practically skin-tight, hugging her extremely thin torso and arms, flaring at the hips and coming down to her knees. Frank was positive no one should be that thin and that Alice certainly never had been, but she was a slender woman, so it would be kind of close and they could shrink it down for Grey.

"Alright," he said, starting to turn and waving for her to follow him.

"Thanks," Grey suddenly blurted. He glanced back and was surprised to see a light blush on her very pale face. There were dark rings under her eyes and Frank, once again, wondered how Neville had reached out to her so easily. He was so shy of everyone and, by all rights, Grey should have frightened him. "Um, for letting me stay here tonight and for coming with me to..." She trailed off, looking at Alice, her shoulders tensed.

Alice's face clouded and she nodded. "Can – may I tell Frank?"

Grey chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes flicking to Frank, who stood still, wondering what it was she had asked Alice not to tell him. Grey's eyes studied him intently and she gave a small nod.

"Thanks," Alice said. "And you can stay as long as you need or want. Now go on, you two. I'll be there in a minute."

Frank turned away again, glad to know he wouldn't be up wondering about the mystery of whatever it was Grey was secretive about, and led the way up one of the main staircases.

The foyer had checkered black and white marble floors, portraits of his ancestors hanging on the walls, and two curved staircases that hugged the walls and met up in the middle. To the right and left were drawing rooms and straight ahead, underneath where the staircases met, were two large double doors that led straight into a ballroom.

Frank took the left staircase, turning left into the hall and heading for the blue guest room on the west end of the house. It had a beautiful view of the large pond in the back yard and gardens that had been cultivated by Longbottoms for generations.

Once, he glanced behind to be check that Grey was following him, and was startled to see her only a few feet behind him. She walked so silently he hadn't been sure if she was even there.

"Field Marshal is pretty high ranking, isn't it?" he asked. He wasn't familiar with Muggle military ranking, but it sounded good.

"The highest," she answered softly. "I'm the – I was the head of the Light Army of England."

He looked back again, surprised. But her face was perfectly serious and she seemed to be standing straighter in remembrance of her former position. It was the same thing she had done when speaking with Dumbledore and Moody. "Really?" he asked. "I mean..."

"Shouldn't it be someone older?" she filled in wryly, raising her brows a little. He nodded sheepishly. She shrugged. "It's a complicated story...Let's just say that I was a Someone before the war got its momentum and when several prominent leaders fell, I was who they turned too. I didn't know much about battles and the like, but I learned on the job. Had a lot of Aurors on hand by then and they helped considerably. By the time they were gone, I was pretty good at it and the States – that's what we called the American forces in our base – were there, and Texas and Maine became my generals and they were strategic genii."

"Texas and Maine?" he questioned. He knew they were states, but he hadn't known people actually named their kids after them.

"They never fully disclosed their names because if Voldemort had gotten a foothold in America, their families would have been at risk. It's what he did to the Aurors who opposed him – tracked down their entire family and slaughtered them – so they just went by their ranks and the states they hailed from instead," she said.

"Oh," he said, turning back to face down the hall and continuing. They were only a yard or so from the door. He wondered what that felt like, falling from a position like that in a weird twist of magic. To everyone she would now meet, she would be little more than a pedestrian, not a war leader to be looked up and listened to.

"You know," she said, sounding like she was thinking out loud. "I'm a little relieved that I'm not Field Marshal anymore. It's stressing, you know, being in charge of everything. It's not just conducting battles – it's making sure your base doesn't freak out and mutiny, that the other bases don't sell out, that the supply lines can still find a way to get through. It's keeping every single Light person alive and fighting to the best of your abilities, particularly since there is – was – so few of them left..."

Frank hadn't been sure of what exactly it was that she did, but it sounded incredibly taxing; no wonder she looked so worn. He didn't think he could have done it, especially being thrust into it at a young age and being so inexperienced. She must have been one hell of a somebody if they turned to someone like her in a war against Voldemort.

They arrived at the white door with a gold handle and he opened the door, going in and glancing over everything. It was as neat as ever and smelled fresh. The carpet was a thick dark blue and plush, the kind that a person's feet could sink into. The queen sized four poster bed had a dark cherry frame, and there were matching nightstands, dresser, and wardrobe positioned strategically around the room. The blanket was midnight blue with silver embroidery and the sheets a light shade of silvery blue, and the pillowcases a slightly darker shade. A matching upholstered bench sat at the end of the bed, a large fireplace directly across from that. The bay window on the far wall had pale blue lacy curtains that were pulled back, showing its beautiful view.

The house-elves obviously knew they were coming because the covers were turned back on the bed and the fire was lit. The en suite bathroom door was open as well and the light was on. He could just see the large mirror and it looked fogged, indicating they had drawn her a hot bath as well.

"Well," he said. "I can't say I know what that's like, I'm just one of the lowest Aurors, but I don't envy you your former position. And here we are. Your room until further notice."

Her eyes, of course, flickered around in that way of hers.

"Thank you," she repeated sincerely.

He gave a nod, silently resolving to ward her door at least. He knew an old family spell meant to keep an eye on heirs in their younger years. It would alert him to different things – nightmares, which he'd be surprised if she didn't have, but it let him know how terrible it was on a scale of one to thirty-five; if they left the room and the general direction they had gone; if they got sick, and all kinds of other things of that nature, and it was a very subtle charm. He figured it could come in surprisingly handy for an unknown houseguest of somewhat dubious origins.

He trusted her oath – she would not be helping Voldemort – but there was a difference between not helping him and not hurting them. Alice seemed to really like her, but Frank would take no chances.

"Do you like it?" Alice asked, appearing some moments later. She was holding a small pile of clothing.

"It's beautiful," Grey said. Frank once again noticed how different she was compared to the figure at the meeting. Alice smiled, pleased, and Frank found a moment in all his worries to appreciate his wife's warm smile. It was the first thing he had noticed about her all those years ago.

"I'll let you ladies be," Frank said. "If you need anything, Grey, call for Minny. She's one of our house-elves." Grey nodded. He turned and left, tugging the door shut behind him a little and wandlessly placing the charm on it.

Alice let her eyes trail her husband's fit figure as he left. She hoped Neville would have his strong build over her slight one.

"He seems nice," Grey ventured.

"He is - rather like what you described Neville to be earlier," Alice said, bringing her gaze back to their unexpected visitor. "What did you say to him? Neville, I mean, earlier..."

"That he was going to have a better future than what he did," she said simply.

Alice knew that was the clearest answer she was going to get. She also knew it was more than that – there were too many words for it to be simply that – but she let it go and set the pajamas on the bed.

"Now," she said, starting to lay them out. "There are a few different sizes, so if you take off your coat, you can just tug the shirts on and we'll see what's best."

Grey complied and started unbuttoning her long coat. She wore a fitted black shirt with three quarter sleeves underneath. It had a scoop neck and, because her black curly hair was pulled up, Alice could see the tips of some sort of black tattoo across her shoulders. There was also a complicated shield knot just below the nape of her neck. There were a couple of more on her arms, one disappearing up her sleeve, one written in beautiful script in black ink on her left wrist, and another on her right wrist, which seemed to be a series of dates with letters and slashes beside them. They disappeared up her sleeve as well.

And then Alice saw the blood from where some of her wounds had soaked the shirt. The flickering light of the fireplace didn't give the best lighting, but she could see at least one place on her side that the dragon hide and shirt had clearly been cut through and that the wound was only half, hastily healed.

"I didn't know you were still wounded!" she exclaimed.

Grey shrugged. "I can heal them. How about I do that, take a bath, and try all this on when I get out? I'll return what doesn't fit in the morning."

"Do you need anything? Bandages? Potions?"

"Muscle relaxer, if you have it. Otherwise, I'm not going to be able to move in the morning."

"I'll have Minny bring you some when you finish your bath," Alice said decisively. Grey nodded her thanks and Alice took her leave. She went to the kitchen first, though she knew Frank would be up waiting for her in their room. She wanted something chocolate and she had to speak with Minny anyway. It only took a few minutes and then she was heading back up the stairs with a mug of hot chocolate. Instead of turning left, the same direction as Grey's room, she turned right, towards her own room and Neville's, which was just off the side of her and Frank's room.

Frank, as predicted, was sitting at the edge of their bed, waiting. He looked a bit surprised to see her so soon though. "That was quick. Don't girls normally take longer?"

She gave him a wry look. "Hilarious. And she only took off her coat. She's still wounded, Frank," Alice said, and then told him what she had seen. He looked troubled, but not surprised.

"And what did you ask if you could tell me about?" he asked after a few moments of silence. She was sitting on the bed next to him now and he held her hand.

"It was about who was in the coffin," Alice said slowly, thinking of all she had seen and suspected. "Before agreeing to let me come, she had me swear that I wouldn't tell anyone what I saw or heard without her permission. I agreed so long as it didn't harm innocents and it wasn't self-harming. She just wanted it kept really private, because all she did was Apparate us to this beautiful hill. It was Severus Snape in the coffin and she buried him underneath an oak tree that overlooked a river. She made a headstone for him," Alice said, then recited what she had inscribed on it. "I think they were really close because she was really upset. I mean..." She struggled to think of how to describe it.

Grey hadn't looked very upset, keeping a tight lock on her expressions, but just before she had figured out what to write on the headstone, she had had tears in her eyes and it had taken a couple of long minutes to get herself back under control. And then there was her whisper of '_So much for bravery_'. The way it was said, the brief flash of regret on her face, had made it seem like, maybe, Grey had felt a little more than just friendship for Snape. It was an odd thought – Snape was her age and Grey the same age as her son – but she supposed that love could happen anywhere. The strangest bit was that it was Snape. For as long as she had known him, he had been mean, cold, snarky, and jaded. Not exactly someone girls fell head over heels for. But Grey probably knew something about him that they didn't.

"I think..." she restarted, Frank having waited patiently for her to speak, "I think she was in love with him. I've seen people when they lose friends – I've lost a couple myself, we all have – and I've seen people who've lost people they were in love with. I don't know Grey that well, but if I had to pick, I'd say it was the latter that I saw briefly on her face tonight. And I don't think she ever told him. She looked regretful and said 'so much for bravery' just after we buried him. She was a Gryffindor; she told me."

"Wow," Frank murmured, his gaze distant and thoughtful. They lapsed into silence, Alice sipping on her drink and watching the fire. "I put the same spell on her door that we use on Neville's," Frank suddenly said.

"What?"

"I used the same spell," he repeated. "I thought it would be useful for monitoring her. I know she's against Voldemort, but that doesn't exactly equal being on our side. I know, I know," Frank said quickly when she started to protest. "She seems like she's on our side and you like and trust her and I'm not doubting you. I'm just...being cautious."

Alice sighed and nodded. She understood where Frank was coming from – she really did – but she had such a good feeling about Grey that she kept forgetting that she could be a danger.


	4. Chapter 4: Nighttime Revelations

Hollis lay in the cool bed, staring up at the dark blue velvet canopy. She had nearly fallen asleep in the tub, but sleep eluded her now. Why? She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to lose herself in her nightmares. She didn't want to think about the last fight and how many people she lost. She didn't want to think about Severus' death, about his eyes when he died, about burying him under six feet of dirt.

Abruptly, she remembered the tin in her coat pocket and she sat up, waving her hand. A small ball of light floated up, hovering just below the roof of her canopy. Hollis pushed aside the curtains and reached out for her coat.

It was gone.

For a moment, Hollis couldn't think of why, but then remembered the house elves. They would have taken it to better clean and mend it. It was what house elves did.

"Minny!" she hissed, the enormity of the house, the...openness of it, making her feel like she should be quiet. She couldn't recall the last time she'd been in such a space with so few people.

A small elf with huge grey eyes, an oval face, and crooked nose appeared. "Miss has called me?"

"I need the things in my inside left coat pocket," she told the elf. The elf gave a nod and popped away. She popped back just as quickly, two letters and the tin in her hands. She handed them to Hollis. "Thank you, Minny. That will be all," she said, laying aside Texas and Maine's letters.

Minny gave another nod and popped away.

Hollis lightly tapped the tin with her wand and it expanded to be about six inches wide, nine inches long, and an inch tall. It was, expectedly, all black with a silver '_SS_' engraved on the lid. Carefully, she popped the lid off and was surprised to find envelopes standing on their edges, filling the space completely.

_Clever expansion. Precise work to fit the envelopes so perfectly_, Hollis thought absently, taking a deep breath. The tin smelled like ink and parchment and Severus, all smoke and a whiff of potions cut through with the crisp, minty scent she knew from her days at Hogwarts. He'd always used it to keep things sterile in the potion labs.

She pulled out the envelope closest to her and found a simple date marked in black ink in terribly familiar spidery script. It dated back to early 2000. She pulled out a few more, all of them seemingly in chronological order and she made sure to put them back in their proper place. The last one had _July 13, 2002_ written on it. She put it back and looked at the first one.

After several long moments, she pulled open the lip. It hadn't been sealed and she knew the tin must have been heavily warded against anyone that wasn't her. She pulled out the smooth parchment and had to take several deep breaths to steady herself enough to read.

_Dear Hollis,_

_In hindsight, I should have known._

_Only the child of Potter and Lily could have gotten under my guard and into my heart._

_Damn you._

_Well, no, not really. Of course, I desire your safety, for personal reasons as well as more altruistic ones, such as the real need of you defeating Voldemort. Him, God or whoever can curse with my warmest applause._

_Perhaps I should explain how this all came about, but I couldn't tell you. I only realized it myself in the middle of a meeting – not the safest place for such a realization, but I was able to suppress it before it got me into trouble. I don't remember what exactly I was thinking about, but it had something to do with what could happen should we lose this war and I felt a sudden, sharp pain, because the only way we could lose, the only way our side would stop trying, is if you died. Even if you stood alone, you'd still stand, wouldn't you? You're horrifically Gryffindor-ish that way._

_And it was unbearable all of sudden. This is not the first time I've thought of this, but it's the first time it hurt this much._

_Maybe this is a passing thing. Maybe I'm lonely and because you're the only person who actually knows anything of import about my past that isn't a Death Eater or a Dark Lord, I've turned to you. Maybe it's that you're one of the only safe places I have in this world. Maybe._

_But that horrible sixth sense that has kept me alive implies that it isn't just that. And I have no idea what to do about it, thus the writing of a letter I will never send. Not because it's dangerous, though it most certainly is, but because I can't have anything distract either of us. I can't risk being distracted, I can't risk you being distracted. And I can't have personal feelings compromise our decisions – should my death become necessary, it is better that I have no personal ties._

_Besides, there is nothing to suggest you even begin to return my regards and I have too much pride to just bare my heart without further investigation. I'm neither a foolish Gryffindor nor a sentimental Hufflepuff. I am Slytherin and all that it implies. You know that better than most._

_\- SS_

Hollis almost couldn't understand what she was reading. She had read it three times and the letters were still incomprehensible. Surely, she was reading something other than what she thought she was. One more read confirmed that she was and she dropped the letter on top of the tin and felt her careful facade of control shatter.

Not crying wasn't an option. Her eyes well without permission, tears spilling over faster than she could swipe at them. Hollis curled up against the pain, forgetting that she was a witch for a moment and using a pillow to muffle her sobs.

How could both of them be so damn foolish and cowardly? How could he let all that time pass without so much as a single word – how could she? Her mind cruelly replayed every encounter she'd had with him since early 2000 – there were so few of them that she remembered each – and hindsight proved to be as clear as everyone said it was. There had been a hint of increase in his regard, a softer way of speaking, a warmth that hadn't been there previously in his eyes, a change she had noted but had not even begun to connect until those last horrible moments.

How could she have been so blind? How was she supposed to live knowing all this and knowing at the same time that she'd never have an opportunity to fix her mistakes?

The pain, the horrible regret, and the deep, overwhelming sadness felt much like the time when one of the walls of Hogwarts had collapsed on her, only ten times worse. There was no one to dig her out of this, no charms to lighten the load and let her aching lungs breathe, no spells to ease the pain – there was no hope. Just her and the all-consuming grief she had tried and failed to bury, to hold back.

Never again would she see that warmth, that bright and fierce emotion. Never again would she be planning something and receive word that Severus was in the Medic wing, being surly as ever and demanding her presence. Never again would she see that faint hint of a smile when she said something particularly witty, the smile slightly marred by the thin pink scar that went from one corner of his mouth to his ear lobe. Never again would he lightly rest one hand on her shoulder like he had when she had received news of Neville's death.

Never again would her Severus walk the earth.

And Merlin, how could she bear it? How had she born it thus far? Why did she have to bear? Why did Severus have to die? At the end of it, when they had finally won - why would that be so cruelly ripped from them both? Hollis hurt every bit as deeply as she had when Hermione and Ron had passed, she was just as angry, and just like then, she had no answers. No way to ease this pain or even share the grief because no one here knew. Not really, not in any way that mattered.

Hollis didn't hear the pop of Minny's return, didn't hear her distressed calls or her declaration that she'd fetch the Master and Mistress for her. All she knew was her grief and all she felt it was it devouring her.

* * *

"Master! Mistress!" a squeaky voice said, abruptly interrupting Frank's dreamless sleep. He groggily opened his eyes, squinting at Minny. He couldn't have been asleep for long and he wondered why she was waking him. If it was Neville, they had charms that would have alerted them before the elves could.

"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "What is it?"

"It's Mistress' guest!" Minny said. She was twisting her long fingers and was shifting her weight, as though anxious to be doing something.

"What about her?" Frank asked more clearly, sitting up and feeling Alice doing the same.

"She's hurt – she is crying and needs help," Minny reported.

"Alright, Minny," Frank said. "I'll go see to her. You've done your job," he reassured his house-elf, slipping out of bed. Minny gave a quick curtsy and popped away. "You can sleep, Alice. You know Minny exaggerates."

Alice looked hesitant and he expected to hear protest, but she surprisingly nodded and laid back down, though it didn't look like she'd be going back to sleep until he came back. With that in mind, he started down the hall.

As he neared the door, he listened carefully, and he couldn't hear anything. Still, Minny wouldn't have come for just anything, no matter how dramatic she could be, so Frank silently cracked the door, opening it just enough to peek in quickly.

A small ball of light illuminated Grey's shaking frame and he could now hear the muffled, full-bodied sobs, the kind people cried when they lost the people dearest to them. Frank's heart twisted painfully in his chest, his mind automatically going to Alice and he opened the door further, stepping into the room.

He didn't really know what he was going to do until he had reached the bed and sat on the side, reaching out a hand and lightly setting it on her shoulder. She jerked in surprise and twisted to look at him, her violet eyes bloodshot and already swelling. He opened his arms a little, silently offering comfort and she hesitated for only a moment before latching onto him. He held her tightly, one hand lightly rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner, and tried not to cry himself. Frank had heard one person in this much pain and that had been years and years ago, back when his father died and he was only five. He had only witnessed his mother crying over it once, but the memory had stuck with him, fading very little over time. She had sounded much like this.

For what felt like ages, Grey cried so hard that Frank wondered if there was ever an end to this, to her pain. But then it started lightening and soon, he realized that she had sobbed herself into exhaustion and was sleeping. He had propped himself back against the pillows and headboard and now gently maneuvered Grey so that she was laying against the pillows instead of him, and then slipped from the bed, straightening her out and starting to pull the blankets up.

A piece of paper suddenly caught his attention and he stilled. It rested on top of a narrow, slender tin, an envelope lying discarded next to it. She must have been reading this when she started crying. Perhaps it was even what had started it.

The lettering on it was too tiny to make out and he was filled with the sudden desire to pick it up and read it.

Had it been any other circumstance, perhaps he wouldn't have, but just then, he let his curiosity get the better of him and reached out slowly, keeping an eye on Grey the whole time. He picked it up, tilting it so he could see it in the dim blue-white lighting.

_Dear Hollis,_

_In hindsight, I should have known._

_Only a child of Potter and Lily could have gotten under my guard and into my heart..._

"Oh my god," he murmured to himself as he read the rest of the short, single-paged letter. He folded it up immediately afterward, putting it back in its envelope. He didn't know where it went in the tin and didn't want to find out. He felt ashamed enough as it was for invading her privacy that way, so he set it on top and placed the lid over it. He put it and her wand on the nightstand, next to the half full vial of muscle relaxer and two other letters, addressed to two families in America.

Alice said that she thought that Grey – Hollis Potter, your wife's goddaughter, his mind told him – hadn't told Snape how she felt and now Frank thought that Snape hadn't either and now Grey was suffering from grief and her regrets, especially now that she knew the truth about what he had felt. His affection couldn't have faded, not with that many letters in the tin.

He gazed down at Grey, who looked so young and tragic in her sleep, for a long moment. As he had noticed earlier, she was painfully thin, only hard, lean muscle keeping her from being just skin and bones, and scars of all varieties covered what he could see of her shoulders and arms. She had picked an old tank top of Alice's to wear to sleep, and her bruises and black tattoos were also thrown into sharp relief by the light. The large one across her shoulders looked like some kind of Celtic bird with its wings spread, and there was the shield knot Alice had noticed. Down her right arm spiraled another tribal/Celtic-esque tattoo that was all curves and sharp points. He couldn't see the inside of her right arm to see the dates – he wondered what kind of events they marked; deaths? marriages? births? battles, won or lost? – but her left hand was tucked under her cheek, showing the script. He tilted his head and peered closer at it, recognizing it as three different Latin proverbs -

_Consilio et Animus_  
_Melior morior bellatro, quam ago profugus_  
_Dum spiro, spero_

Which, roughly translated, meant -

_By wisdom and courage_  
_Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees_  
_As long as I live, I hope_

Frank couldn't help but shake his head at the sheer incredulity of it all. What had life done to James' bright little girl, the apple of his and Lily's eyes? By all rights, she should have grown up disliking Snape as much as Sirius, James, and – to an extent – Remus did. But somehow, instead, she had become a Field Marshal in bloody World War III. She had fallen in love with Snape, who was apparently a spy and probably a damn good one if he lasted so long. And to have him cruelly taken from her before either of them mustered the courage to tell the other how they felt, only to find out about it in a letter he had written her – if he remembered what she said correctly – a little over two years ago in her timeline. He didn't know if he could bear it, had he been her. He'd die without Alice, and from the stress of everything else…he'd crack. How could one person hold up under it all?

His earlier suspicions about her dreams came back to him and he murmured another old spell, this one more commonly used by parents everywhere to give their kids a nightmare free night. Her face relaxed a little and he was glad that he could do that much for her. He tugged the covers up all the way as well.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he murmured, waving his wand at the light. It winked out and he left the room, shutting the door and leaning against it with a sigh. "You poor girl," he whispered, waving his wand and cleaning and drying off his shirt.

How had she held it together through that whole meeting? Snape had only just died according to her story and yet she had been so fierce and composed. He would have fallen apart the second Alice died; the only thing that could've kept him going was Neville. Maybe, he thought, the idea just occurring to him, that was one of the reasons she had been chosen as Field Marshal – because she could see past her own grief and remain in control…Or it was one of the traits she gained while on the job.

Slowly, he walked back to his room, stopping in Neville's to check on his baby boy, then continuing on. Alice, as he predicted, was awake and sitting up.

"That took quite some time," she said, looking worried.

He went around the bed and hugged her as tightly as he could without hurting her. She hugged him back without question and they stayed like that for a long time, though he eventually had to let her go.

"She was crying," Frank told her miserably, sitting one the edge of the bed beside her. "There was a letter, a tin full of letters with Snape's initials on the lid. I read the letter, the first one, I think, after she cried herself to sleep – and she's the Hollis Potter of the future, Alice, Hollis Potter. Your goddaughter. And he, Snape, that is, said that he should have known, that only a child of Potter and Lily could have gotten into his heart. He loved her back, Alice, and neither of them said so, just like you thought, but now she knows and Circe...It was awful, so terrible listening to her cry like that..."

He ran a shaky hand through his head, feeling an unexpected lump in his throat again.

"I mean, I wondered, but…" Alice said, hushed and sad. He went back to his side of the bed and they curled up together under the covers. "What are we going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one, she's going to see the truth on our faces in the morning – neither of us are that good at pretending – and she's probably going to remember you being there," Alice said practically. "So how are we going to handle it? She's my goddaughter, though I think she's technically older than me now. Secondly, I want to help her. I did before all of this came out, but definitely now. Do you think she'd let us? I can't say I know much about being a Field Marshal, but it sounds important."

"I asked; she said it was the highest rank there was. She was in command of the Light Army of England, all of it. She ran everything, though she had generals to help – two of those American states," Frank informed her.

"Well, then I was right. A person like that isn't going to want to depend on others, I don't think," Alice said.

"We'll tell her we know," Frank decided. "You're right, we can't hide that. But we'll promise not to tell anyone else unless it becomes necessary. And we'll figure out a way to get her to let us help."

We have too, he thought. He couldn't just let her walk away, not now. He knew who she was, some of what she had suffered, and had held her while she cried. Even if little Hollis wasn't basically his niece, he couldn't have let Grey walk away. He was a sucker for tears and she had trusted him enough to let him stay there. He had no doubts as to whether or not she could have forced him out of the room if she had really wanted.

Alice made a small noise of agreement and sleep uneasily reclaimed them both after nearly an hour of lying there, turning the whole situation over in their minds.

**Author's Note:**

I'm not dead; just keeping very, very busy with school and work. On the bright side, my new baby niece is two months old and the joy of my life. I babysat her last night to let my sister and BIL have their first date since she was born. She slept on me for 85% of it and I'm so happy. Also sorry about the weird formatting on this hellscape website. It never saves the way I want it to the first three times, minimum.


End file.
